


The Conversation

by RobinMistySaddle



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, M/M, Meta, Metafiction, Oral Sex, Post-Season/Series 04, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-30
Updated: 2017-05-30
Packaged: 2018-11-06 17:32:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11040933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RobinMistySaddle/pseuds/RobinMistySaddle
Summary: Sherlock and John celebrate the successful conclusion of a case, but then it goes sideways





	The Conversation

“Brilliant as always,” John said as they entered the flat.

“I know,” Sherlock said, following him in. “Sometimes I feel sorry for Greg, constricted by that little mind of his, but this isn’t one of those times.”

“I know,” John said, as he sat down at his laptop. “Can you believe that he completely missed that the revolver hung over the fireplace the entire time he was there.” He laughed slightly.

“Are you going to blog about that now?” Sherlock asked.

“Why?” John looked up at him. “Is there something else we need to do.”

“I thought a little celebration was in order.” Sherlock leaned down and kissed John. It was a slow, deliberate kiss. When they broke, Sherlock straightened up and added, “Besides, I’ve been feeling horny since I saw your naked, sexy ass this morning.”

“I suppose the blog can wait,” John said, standing, not hiding his now bulging crotch. He leaned into Sherlock and returned the kiss. They clutched at each other, pressing against each other.

Soon they were in the bedroom, naked. Sherlock lay on the bed while John knelt between his legs, pumping his mouth up and down his cock. John carefully only closed his mouth just enough so his teeth gently scraped the skin, making Sherlock moan. Sherlock placed his hand on the back of John’s head and rather urgently pushed him down, making him take more.

Soon, John crawled up next to Sherlock and lay on his side facing away from Sherlock. Sherlock grabbed the lube from the bed stand and applied a generous amount to both his cock and John’s ass. John moaned slightly as Sherlock’s finger slipped in and out. Sherlock moved in behind John, and holding onto his hip, firmly pressed his cock into John. “Here’s something for you to blog about,” he moaned.

John moaned loudly as Sherlock entered him. He pushed back to meet him until he felt Sherlock’s entire length in him. Sherlock slowly began to pump in and out of him. John moved his hips to meet Sherlock’s thrusts. John reached down and grabbed his own cock and stroked it in time to Sherlock.

They fucked with great urgency and neither was able to last long. John felt Sherlock tense and erupt and then he came all over the sheets. As they caught their breath, Sherlock slipped out of him. “I love you,” John said softly.

“I’m glad you feel that way,” Sherlock said as he cuddled against him. “But I’m afraid it’s that man sitting over there that made you love me.”

John sat up with start. Sitting next to the window, was a pudgy older man. He sat in the chair, relaxed, his legs crossed, wrists resting on knee. “What?!” John started. “Who are you? How long have you been sitting there?”

“He’s right,” the man said softly. “And I’ve been here the whole time. And all of the other people you can’t see but who are observing you..”

“But,”John stuttered, “I never saw...”

“And you never do.” 

John quickly looked down at Sherlock. He was already sleeping. He looked back at the man. Keeping his eyes on him, he reached over to the bedside table, and felt around for the drawer handle.

“I wouldn’t bother.” The man said, not making an attempt to move. “You’re Sig Sauer isn’t there.”

John snapped his head down and looked in the open drawer. It wasn’t there. He looked at the man again. “Where is it?” He asked slowly. “How did you know I kept it there?”

“I know, because I created all of...this.” He gestured with hands at the room. “At least, to a certain degree.”

John stared at him, shaking a little. “I’m not a religious man...” he said slowly.

“And I’m not God.” The man finished. “Maybe in a certain sense, but that would require you being real. And I’m sorry to say, but you are not.”

“Of course I’m real!” John retorted.

“What you are is a character in a story based upon a character from a television show who was, in fact, based on a character from other stories.” The man shrugged. “I guess at a certain level you are ‘real.’ But your thoughts, your feelings, your motivations...they’re mine. I put them there. You have no free will. All of this is predestined because I made it so. I chose ALL of this. If you want to think about it cynically, everything is utilitarian, even the fact that I'm here talking to you, a simulacrum of my real self.”

John slumped back against the headboard. 

“I’m sorry,” the man said, but then brightly asked, “Tea?” A teapot and a cup sat on the small table next to him, steam rising gently in the sunlight streaming through the window.

John looked puzzled, but just as he opened his mouth, the man said, “Yes, this wasn’t here until I put it there five seconds ago. And no, not magic or a miracle.”

John couldn’t think of anything to say. Thoughts raced through his mind, thinking of everything he had done, or said. 

“Oh,” the man added. “It’s not just me. There’s thousands of people writing all sorts of stories about you. If you ever feel schizophrenic, that would be the reason why.”

“But, why?”

“Why what? Why do I make you do certain things? I do it to tell the story I want to tell, in the way I want to tell it. I do it primarily for humor. Mostly cute little vignettes to tell a story. Nothing serious. Some people like the super serious. Other people like the relationships. Just all sorts of things, whatever the mind can imagine.” The man laughed a little. “There’s even a whole sub-genre dedicated to you being injured.”

“I don’t find that very amusing,” John sounded hurt.

“No, I suppose you wouldn’t.” The man stood up. “Look, people want to tell a story and they use your character and your world to tell it. The TV show I mentioned? That’s two guys who wanted to put Sherlock in the Twenty-first Century instead of the Twentieth and we’re all just using their world, but moving you about in different ways as we see fit. Why did I have you and Sherlock have sex? Because I felt like it, to simply get you to the point where we are now. I mean, I could have completely ignored that Mary threw herself in front of a bullet and have you fucking her. Quite often I do.”

“Mary...Why did she do that?” John interjected.

The man shrugged. “Who knows. It wasn’t me. I mean, there’s no real motivation other than the guys that wrote it wanted to set up a situation where Mary was dead and you get pissed at Sherlock. And don’t even try to fit in a motivation. As far as I’m concerned they wanted a certain outcome and trying to transpose a motivation in hindsight is an exercise in futility. It often seemed they liked to try and prove how clever they were.”

John thought for a moment. “What now?”

The man laughed. “Oh nothing. In a minute this meeting will be over and you’re going to go back to cuddling with Sherlock. Although, I could change it so that it will be somebody else, and you, the little puppet that I control, won’t know at all and just pick up with whatever I choose to do with you. I’m done with this conversation. I’ve made my point. It’s time to move on.”

John blinked. “Did you say something?” he asked Sherlock.

“I said, ‘I love you, too,’” Sherlock mumbled, drifting off to sleep.

John scooted down next to him, not quite sure why, but filled with a certain apprehension.

**Author's Note:**

> If you liked this, check out my other works


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